


Thorns and Roses

by Mockingjay468



Series: 'Til Death Do Us Part [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (Or At Least My Attempt At Fluff), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Books, Brings In Things From The Rest Of The AU, Fluff, Hair, I Was Told By A Friend That I Wasn't Allowed To Write Anymore Angst, M/M, Sibling Love, The Importance Of Hair To Elves, Weddings, so have some fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28957953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mockingjay468/pseuds/Mockingjay468
Summary: They sit there, curled up together, as the sun creeps across the sky, content in each other’s presence. They drift in and out of a shallow sort of sleep and the odd snippet of conversation and Finrod really would be content to stay here forever.The day is grey but Finrod is not.
Relationships: Curufin | Curufinwë & Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Curufin | Curufinwë/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Finrod Felagund | Findaráto & Galadriel | Artanis
Series: 'Til Death Do Us Part [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122155
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	Thorns and Roses

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!
> 
> The final story in this mini trilogy thing! It is as fluffy as I get because I was ordered by a friend to write fluff after all the angst of the last two stories and I bend to her superior wisdom.
> 
> A huge thank you, as ever, to my wonderful beta [oliviacat3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviacat3/pseuds/oliviacat3) for going through this once again on short notice and to all the wonderful commenters because you guys have given me so many wonderful ideas for this AU so I thank you all!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

Finrod sighs, letting his book fall open on his lap and leaning his head against the cool glass of the window. The entire world feels grey.

Even the bright gold of the blanket lying over his lap does not help to cheer him up. It is Finduilas’ creation and usually the memory of her presenting it to him with a proud smile on her face is enough to lift his spirits. But today, the world feels grey and conjuring up happiness is beyond him.

The door opens and Curufin slips in.

Finrod moves his legs so that his betrothed can collapse onto the window seat beside him. Pulling the blanket over himself as well, Curufin snuggles into Finrod’s chest.

“I ache _so much_ ,” He says, his voice slightly muffled by the fabric of Finrod’s shirt. “I don’t want to move ever again.”

Finrod presses a kiss against his bright red hair, the world feeling just that bit brighter and more colourful with Curufin in it. “I don’t have anything else to do today. I will happily stay here for as long as you need.”

“What about your book?”

“Eh, it was honestly kind of boring.”

Curufin looks up. “What are you reading?”

“Something on Ósanwë by Pengolodh.”

Curufin snorts and buries himself further into the blankets. “Pengolodh is an awfully dry narrator. If you want a _good_ book on Ósanwë, see if Finno has anything in the library by Gilfanon. _He_ is actually interesting when he presents his theses.”

Finrod huffs a short laugh at Curufin’s derision but doesn’t reply.

They sit there, curled up together, as the sun creeps across the sky, content in each other’s presence. They drift in and out of a shallow sort of sleep and the odd snippet of conversation and Finrod really would be content to stay here forever.

Unfortunately, their peaceful afternoon is disturbed by a short knock on the door.

Curufin groans. “Go away Kano!”

The door opens anyway.

Finrod sits up sharply, dislodging Curufin, who hisses like an angry cat before he too sees who is in the doorway.

Galadriel is wearing a torn and dirty dress that was probably once white but now edges on a brownish green. Her hair hangs free of any binding (Finrod winces as he thinks of her running through the corridors with her hair down and dreads to think what the rumour mill will produce tomorrow) and is matted and as dirty as her clothing.

They stare at each other before Galadriel runs across the carpet in her bare feet. Finrod closes his eyes – for a minute completely forgetting all of Curufin’s gentle reassurances that his sister did not hate him and that there was probably something else going on that kept her away – and tenses, expecting her to hit him or scream or _something_.

He is not ready to be suddenly engulfed in a rib-breaking hug.

“You _idiot_ ,” She says, squeezing a tad harder. “I went to Nargothrond but you weren’t there because you were still recovering from nearly dying on a suicidal quest that was doomed to fail _two years later_.” She pulls away, searching his face for a long moment. “You’re _so stupid_.” She blinks away tears and hugs him again.

Finrod begins to laugh hysterically, unable to formulate anything to say.

“Don’t you dare find this funny Ingoldo.” She pulls away again and gently wipes away tears that have started to fall. He leans into her touch, smiling and crying but not really caring because Galadriel – Artanis – little baby Nerwen – is here and safe.

“So you don’t hate me?” He asks as the laughing dies off.

She looks bewildered. “Why would I hate you? You’re the only brother I have left. I am angry at you because you shouldn’t have risked your life like that but I’m also angry at Beren for asking you to help and at Curvo for egging you on.”

“I did no such thing!” Curufin exclaims, forgoing any pretense at not listening in to be very offended. At the same time, Finrod says: “You’ve seen Beren? Wait…” He takes in her terrible state of dress and the complete lack of communication they have had with her and where both she and Beren had been to everyone’s most recent knowledge…“Doriath had you captive!”

She waves a hand. “Curvo, you should know the only way to get Ingo out of a bad idea is to tie him down until he re-evaluates. And Ingo, I’m fine. I escaped didn’t I?” Her sharp eyes spot something. “Is that a betrothal ring?”

Finrod looks down, even though he knows that it is. It is, as ever, a very good excuse to admire it as Finrod likes to do. The ring is simple by Curufin’s standards – and that is to be expected when he made it when he was technically still meant to be on bedrest. It is a thin silver band studded with the tiniest diamonds in a small row in the centre and Finrod loves it more than any gift anyone has ever given him.

“Yes. Curvo made it,” He says and Galadriel spins around.

Curvo meets her piercing gaze with one of his own, his arms crossed over his chest. “You shouldn’t change the subject,” He says. “Doriath. Explain.”

If Galadriel is surprised by this particular interrogation, she doesn’t say anything. “Fine. It started when I stopped getting letters – that was around the same time Lúthien brought her mortal lover to Doriath and Thingol asked for the Silmaril. I thought you had all just stopped writing so I was naturally rather annoyed. I requested that I take some time to go visit my family and Melian said no.”

She shrugs, settling herself on the end of Curufin and Finrod’s bed. “I naturally got curious as to why – she said that she was worried about my well-being, but something about that felt… _off_. So, I asked a few questions and then found a small branch of Thingol’s family who were worried about Thingol, of all people; I, naturally, thought this ridiculous, but apparently, since he had married Melian, he had changed and not for the better.

“They believed Melian to be the reason for the change. I am – was – a good friend of Melian. At least, I thought I was. It turns out that Melian is a manipulative witch and I hope she one day finds herself on the receiving end of some horrible torture.”

Galadriel is gripping the post of the bed with a death grip and looking into the middle distance with a glare so intense, Finrod is half surprised the wall doesn’t just burst into flame.

“Well that explains a lot…” Finrod looks up at the voice and sees Maglor still hovering in the doorway. “I’m sorry,” He says as all the eyes in the room turn to him. “It is just that I need to go see Daeron because I think I understand something now.”

He smiled distractedly and turned away.

“What does Daeron-?”

“He’s Melian and Thingol’s son. Lúthien’s younger brother. Not many people know that because Melian decided he didn’t fit the role of a prince of the Sindar well enough and subsequently expulsed him from Doriath.”

“Shit,” Curufin breathed. “I’m assuming she has some sort of control over Thingol?”

“Very probably. Either magical, which seems unlikely as no enchantment seems to have been placed over him, or simply she is very good at manipulation.” Galadriel sighs. “But anyway, I snooped and got caught and I was effectively imprisoned. It was a very nice prison but a prison all the same.”

Finrod wants to sit beside her and take her hand in comfort but knowing his sister, she wouldn’t appreciate that.

“I escaped with the help of one of Thingol’s cousins or nephews or something. We escaped because he managed to drug Melian and subsequently the girdle went down for a few hours.” She grimaces. “It probably wasn’t a wise decision but the three of us escaped.”

“The three?”

“Well there was me; Celeborn – the cousin I was talking about; and Beren. Did I mention we rescued Beren?”

“No,” Finrod says, slightly amused and slightly apprehensive at the thought of seeing Beren again.

“Well, we rescued him too.” She smiles. “But enough about me. Tell me more about the wedding.”

“It’s in a week’s time at sunset,” Curufin says, “You can be there or not.”

“Of course I’ll be there.” Galadriel sounds thoroughly insulted at the insinuation that she might not attend her brother’s wedding.

“We know that,” Finrod says placatingly. “It’s only we’ve had a few people who have been a bit…”

“Rude. Insulting. Discourteous. Insolent. I can go on.” Curufin is frowning now and Finrod can see his fingernails biting into the skin of his arms.

“Who?” Galadriel’s eyes are burning with a righteous fury. “What did they say?”

“It was just a few people being petty, that’s all,” Finrod says, attempting to forgo a kinslaying. Curufin is not so inclined.

“It was a few Lords and Ladies. Maedhros has a list. They’re against the whole ‘re-marriage’ thing or they say we’re ‘too close in blood’ though we’re not or we’re being ‘too Sindarin’ because ‘two men can’t be married in the eyes of Eru’.” Curufin is full on scowling now and Finrod can see the tell-tale scrunch of his nose which means he’s fighting of tears.

“Good, well, to Maedhros I shall go.” She rose fluidly to her feet.

Finrod raises an eyebrow. “With your hair like that?”

She reaches up as if she has only just realised the state that she is in.

“There’s a hair tie on the dresser.”

She snatches it up, ties her hair back and with a hug and a quick goodbye, marches off down the corridor.

Finrod rises and closes the door as Curufin sinks to the floor and buries his head in his arms.

Finrod doesn’t say anything – they’ve had this conversation enough that he’d only be repeating himself and so, instead, he settles himself onto the ground beside his betrothed and waits.

* * *

Finrod is taking a walk the next day when he finally sees Beren.

Other issues have been troubling him over the course of the day, such as how to avoid Fingon declaring war on Doriath because they really can’t afford to be fighting a war on two fronts; or to stop his sister and future brothers-in-law from murdering courtiers, however tempting it is just to let them go for the distress their words had caused his husband-to-be. He has subsequently not really had much time to think of how he’ll react when he sees Beren again.

“Fin-I mean, my Lord.” Beren bows. “I wished to apologise. It is clear to me now that I should never have asked for your company on my quest.”

Finrod freezes for a moment, before bowing his head. “Thank you, Beren. Do not take all of the blame though for it was also my own folly that insisted I join you.” He bit his lip. “I am getting married five days from now. Your betrothed has been invited and I feel that I should extend that invitation to you too.”

“Thank you my Lord.” Beren bows again.

“You may drop the formalities.” Finrod bites his lip. “I am lord of nothing. It is my nephew who is King of Nargothrond now.”

They stand there for an uncomfortably long time, the awkward silence eventually broken by Beren. “I must leave now. I said I would meet Tinúviel for lunch.” He begins to bow, but remembers Finrod’s request and straightens, opting instead to nod his head in a short goodbye and hurry off in the other direction.

Finrod sinks down onto a nearby bench and puts his face in his hands as he attempts to regulate his breathing.

“Fuck,” He whispers and just the act of swearing helps release some of the bubbling stress inside him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He takes in a shaky breath and leans back on the bench, letting his hands fall into his lap.

Finrod doesn’t want to think the worst of the mortal but it sounded awfully as if he had been put up to that apology by Galadriel. Finrod doubts Beren was truly sorry – he knows that if he was in the same situation and he was on a quest for Curufin, he doubts he would feel much beyond a slight, festering guilt for the casualties.

Now _that_ is a terrifying thought.

He shakes his head and stands again. Curufin…Curufin might be able to help him get his head around the situation.

Hopefully.

* * *

He forgets to ask Curufin as when he gets inside he is immediately accosted by Finduilas and Celebrimbor who want him for something to do with the wedding and then the next few days fly by in a mess of planning and nerves and annoying family members flitting about.

It is worth it.

The wedding is wonderful and beautiful and Finrod hasn’t ever felt as happy as he does now, sitting next to his husband ( _his husband!_ ), their hands linked as they sit together.

One by one, guests trickle by to give their blessing but Finrod has only half an ear for each, spending most of his time enraptured by Curufin or being completely overwhelmed by joy.

Maglor passes by at one point, giggling madly – he has, Finrod thinks, always been a bit of a lightweight. He has a hand in Daeron’s and the two self-declared nemeses tumble out of the pavilion together, lapsing into periodic laughter.

Finrod sighs happily and sinks slightly into his seat.

Curufin squeezes his hand. “Are you tired? We can leave now if you want.”

“No.” He smiles. “I could be exhausted but so long as I am by your side, I could face the whole world.”

Curufin blushes faintly and bites his lip to hide a smile. “Don’t be cheesy Ingo.”

“But you love it when I’m cheesy.” Finrod knows he’s grinning like a madman but he doesn’t particularly care.

Curufin rolls his eyes but is unable to keep his smile hidden. “Maybe I do. Of course, I – oh here come Tinúviel and Beren.”

Finrod freezes and Curufin gives him a concerned look.

He is unable to do anything more before they are both in front of him. Lúthien gives them a shallow curtsy and Beren bows despite Finrod’s words the other day.

“Congratulations,” Lúthien says and gives them a radiant smile. “It has been a wonderful party and you two look very happy. We feel that we have imposed for too long though so we will be off now.”

“We made you this.” Beren presses a wool wrapped present into his hands before they both said goodbye and vanished into the crowd.

“What is it?” Curufin asks, leaning over his shoulder as Finrod unwraps it. “Oh. Wait a moment, that’s my knife!”

Curufin sits up straight, resembling for a moment a particularly outraged rabbit and Finrod stifles a giggle. “Look, there’s a note,” He says when Curufin slouches down mumbling angrily. “They reforged it for you as it broke and Lúthien wove her magic into it so that it should be stronger.”

“It was perfectly strong before,” Curufin remarks but puts it on the table beside him anyway.

The evening continues.

Finduilas brings them a tapestry of her own creation and Celebrimbor brings a pair of complimentary necklaces before they join Gil-Galad and Caranthir’s three children at the edge of the dance floor.

Amras appears temporarily as well and gives best wishes and a small book of easy recipes.

“I just recalled that horrible incident when you nearly burnt the kitchen down,” He says to Curufin with no hint of humour in his voice. “I felt I should give you something that even you can’t mess up.”

Curufin scowls as Finrod thanks Amras for the present and Amras bursts into laughter.

Curufin is too surprised at _Amras laughing_ to get angry before Amras says his goodbyes and disappears.

The night begins to blur.

Celegorm and Artanis are flitting around with Maedhros and Fingon in tow, laughing, chatting, almost definitely keeping tabs on everyone’s movements.

Curufin laughs at someone’s joke and Finrod gets distracted because he swears that is one of the most beautiful sounds in the entire world.

He spots Caranthir taking wine off of his children and scolding them and their cousins quite roundly for over consumption of alcohol.

Curufin smiles at him and from that point onward, Finrod can’t really remember anything else in much detail. He and Curufin smile and laugh and talk, and at some point they get up and dance. There is wine – a lot of wine – and family and it is loud and happy and then…

They are in their room and they are alone.

Finrod can still hear faint music in the distance and feel the effects of the party in his blood.

And he is married to the love of his life.

Or, at least, he will be.

* * *

 _Morning_ , Curufin says across their newly formed marriage bond and Finrod turns over in bed to smile at his husband ( _his husband!_ ).

He aches everywhere, his head throbs slightly and just from swallowing, he can tell that his throat is going to be painful for a while, but he finds he doesn’t care because he is married and that is a far more wonderful feeling.

 _Good morning_.

Curufin frowns. “Do you hurt?” He asks. His hand reaches out and he strokes the scarring on Finrod’s throat ever so gently with the pad of his thumb. It is remarkably calming this gesture and Finrod leans into it.

 _Yes_ , he admits, _but I don’t mind. So long as you stay here with me I shouldn’t mind any amount of pain_.

“You’re being cheesy again,” Curufin warns but smiles all the same. “I suppose we are just married. We can probably get away with a day or two to ourselves.”

 _Just married…I like the sound of that,_ Finrod thinks dreamily.

“I’m glad,” Curufin says dryly. “Marriage isn’t the most reversible of procedures.”

Finrod laughs and leans his forehead against Curufin’s. _I wouldn’t want it to be_.

They stay there for a moment, just revelling in the other’s presence and simply existing, with no other worries in the world.

“I love you,” Curufin says quietly.

Finrod smiles and presses a kiss to Curufin’s lips. _I love you too_.

And that, as they say, is that.

**Author's Note:**

> Quenya Translations:  
> Ósanwë - Communication of Thought


End file.
